


Across the Wide Valley

by CreativeSweets



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Decisions, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, HashiTobi endgame, M/M, Size Difference, Unhealthy Relationships, centaur sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeSweets/pseuds/CreativeSweets
Summary: Tobirama, a well-established white witch and remover of curses, discovers his highschool sweetheart and husband with a very pregnant girlfriend. After taking a trip to Italy, he decides to buy a run-down villa to start a new life.Loosely inspired byUnder the Tuscan Sun.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Senju Tobirama, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 14
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDarkSide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkSide/gifts).



Tobirama would consider himself rather fearless, all things considered. One cannot be a powerful witch dealing with curse removals of all manners with _fear_. But this—this is a different kind of fear.

There’s little stock to put in the way of stars and the crossing of alignments, and standing here, in front of the dilapidated villa he bought on a whim in a completely different country, Tobirama doubts his rash decision. No doubt there are plenty of new curses and spells to learn and battle against here in Italy, but he is completely alone, with only his spelled bag to hold his limited things—primarily his practice ingredients and his good cloak.

After finding his husband— _ex_ -husband, now—with a rather pregnant, young woman his trip to Italy itself was rather rushed. In hindsight, the fear of being _not enough_ , of being the reason _why_ his husband left—

No. Tobirama is here, brand-new country, brand-new place to live, and his good old trusty maiden name back. He can do this.

A shutter falls off one of the second story windows.

Once again, the doubt bubbles up, because typically he’s rather thoughtful, patient. Perhaps it was Touka’s influence as they took the trip to Italy together, Touka calling in a favor to move her gladiator battle a couple weeks out so she could accompany Tobirama on the foolish, hasty retreat.

 _It’s no use dwelling on the past_ , Tobirama takes careful steps towards the ivy-covered villa, _a simple charm for stability should be enough for the night_.

Rustling in the bushes causes Tobirama to purse his lips. Garden gnomes are the worst sort of pest, and he can only hope that the cause is something more useful than the bitey little shits that never seem to go away. Even _pixies_ would be preferable.

But no matter, a good spell or two will reveal exactly what needs to be done—tomorrow. No amount of coffee has kickstarted Tobirama’s mind into behaving with the new times, not even the sun that’s fully in view can convince his brain. Ugh.

A nap first, and _then_ some tentative protection spells after checking ley lines. One blown-up house is enough for Tobirama.

* * *

Tobirama awakes to a knock on his door, and a resulting colorful curse as the _other_ shutter falls to meet its partner. Squinting yields little success in the way of reminding himself of where he is, but the sun definitely feels lower in the sky than before his nap. Groaning, Tobirama rubs his eyes as he picks himself up to answer the door.

There’s an _army_ on his doorstep; at least five different men, one that Tobirama zeroes in on with his keen eye for nasty curses. Whoever cast _that_ curse should probably be brought to heel. Last time Tobirama checked, turning someone’s lower half into a _horse_ is very much illegal.

The slightly shorter—yet broad—man with a veritable tangle of hair in front of him starts speaking.

“Mito said you would need help with the villa. I’ve brought help. Ley lines are tricky but we’re used to it—our villa is on similar ones just over there—” Tobirama follows the large gestures of the man’s hands over his shoulder to see across the valley the only other out-of-village villa.

It even has a _vineyard_. Tobirama wonders if his soil is enough to grow a small garden. He didn’t exactly _ask_ the nice realtor Mito if the soil was good when he bought the place.

The man is still talking, and Tobirama tunes back in.

“—and _her_ cousin is marrying Hikaku’s second cousin once removed. Therefore a wedding gift and a welcome gift all rolled into one!”

“I...see.” Tobirama most assuredly does _not_ but he’s unwilling to argue for free help.

And he’ll get to know his neighbors, too. Assuredly a win-win scenario.

* * *

Three hours later, Tobirama reassesses his stance as he stares at the shattered chandelier on the floor in front of him.

“I’m _so_ sorry!”

Tobirama blinks up at where Hashirama is suspended in air—what a clever little spell—with his horse legs drawn up in mortification.

Waving off the apology is easy, given how this is the fifth such instance of it being uttered.

Thick, tufted hooves flail as Hashirama starts slowly coming back to the ground, and they nearly give out once the centaur touches down. The spell is clearly not of _Hashirama’s_ doing, then. Tobirama watches on as one silky looking front leg scratches at the other.

And then his gaze travels up slowly, taking in the flex of powerful muscles in the well-developed horse body, the smooth gradient from animal to human, the way Hashirama’s shirt is too tight and shows off an equally impressive human musculature—

“ _Che macello_ , Hashirama! Again!” 

Madara’s interjection at least snaps Tobirama out of his impromptu checking out of Hashirama. He shouldn’t be checking out others so soon after his divorce. Stupid!

Instead of dwelling on the questionable validity of falling into attraction with someone, Tobirama focuses on weaving the time spell and fixing up the floor and chandelier. It’s only after the spell has pulled the broken pieces back together and the chandelier is innocently sitting on the floor, glass pieces waving with residual motion, that Tobirama notices the silence.

Two sets of wide eyes stare at him.

“What?”

“Mito didn’t mention you were a _temporal_ witch.” Madara says as Hashirama twitches next to him.

“I’m not,” Tobirama denies easily, continuing on as Madara opens his mouth again. “I’m a white witch; I just happen to dabble in other magicks sometimes.”

“ _Dabble_ —!” Madara’s face goes through a complicated set of gymnastics, turning a bright red color before he turns around and stomps out the front door, screaming out into the open air.

Confused, Tobirama turns towards Hashirama. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not.” Hashirama’s smile isn’t convincing.

* * *

The next few days pass in a very similar manner. The Uchiha help straighten out the foundations and architecture, and Hashirama tends to miscellaneous tasks before he inevitably breaks something in Tobirama’s presence. All while Tobirama does his best to not think about, talk to, or be near him. For as large as the villa is, one would think this task rather easy.

It is not.

And each time Tobirama repairs whatever it is that Hashirama’s managed to mangle in front of him, everyone seems to have a fit. At this point, Tobirama thinks every single Uchiha cousin has seen him perform a spell.

(Who knew the Uchiha were such a large family?)

Tobirama is _painfully_ curious about the curse, or hex, or even _jinx_ placed over Hashirama. This many accidents—multiple times, some days—and it must be part of the curse. A graceful body yet uncoordinated movements? Wouldn’t be the first time Tobirama has seen such a thing.

But as more and more accidents happen, Tobirama can no longer ignore that he’s spending increasingly more time thinking about Hashirama and his unique...everything. From straight, long chestnut hair to the equally dark, silky coat of fur with tufts of white along the lower parts of the legs, Hashirama occupies much of Tobirama’s thoughts.

And not just his _physical_ appearance, either.

Oh no, while Hashirama is certainly very handsome, big and broad even without a horse’s body to aid in that depiction, he’s also rather charming. And by ‘rather charming’, Tobirama means _absolutely charming_.

It’s as though the Italian is extra-strong in him; a playful sort of innocence lays beneath a sharp brain and love is freely given through physical gestures.

Glowing, tanned skin that bronzes in the sun, deep honey-brown eyes that light up with a smile, a smile so bright and wide there’s no choice but to smile back—

Oh no, Tobirama _knows_ that he’s falling hard, and falling fast. But with each passing day, he finds he minds less and less.

* * *

The first day in two weeks that Tobirama doesn’t wake up to his neighbors on his doorstep is met with a sort of melancholy he typically doesn’t indulge in. But now that the bulk of the restoration is done, the detailed work can start.

Namely: Tobirama’s garden.

With a deep breath, Tobirama does his best to get into a better mindset. The garden gnomes will make off with chunks of his fingers if he’s not paying attention, and there’s no telling what kind of mischief pixies will wreck should he show up _sad_.

Just thinking about the little pests is already shifting his sad mood into an annoyed one.

His bucket has mint, honey, and salt, and his satchel full of obscure herbs that will help fend off whatever else might be unwanted in his new garden space.

At the first rustle, Tobirama steels his nerves and sets about filling a small glass thimble with honey—a bait—and waiting.

And waiting.

And—

Tobirama sucks in a deep breath at the appearance of _butterfly wings_.

 _Oh_ , he has _fairies_ in his garden. Smiling, he hands the lovely little lady a sprig of lavender as he refills the glass thimble.

“Aren’t you most welcome, little one,” Tobirama starts softly, “A true caretaker of such a beautiful place.”

His kind words cause those multi-colored wings to flutter, and a light chiming bell sounds out as the fairy laughs. His fingers get a couple soft kisses, and with a renewed vigor, Tobirama sets about straightening up his garden.

A fairy’s blessing is a fairy’s blessing, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

“— _dabble_ in the stuff!”

Hashirama hums as he stares out the window. It’s not as though he doesn’t _want_ to listen to Madara rant about the same thing for the hundredth time, it’s just that he has better things to do with his brain power.

Like stare out across the valley towards the opposing villa where a very, very handsome witch is living.

Hashirama sighs.

“Are you even _listening_ to me, you stupid horse!”

Hashirama shifts on his side, years of living with his lower half the way it is making the motion easy and smooth. Madara looks one moment away from catching the bedding on fire.

“I get it’s surprising that Tobirama knows time magic, but he _did_ say he’s studied for it.”

“That’s not—! You _study_ lightning to be able to augment your fire or earth with it. _That_ you do. You most certainly do _not_ ‘dabble’ in _time magic_.”

“Perhaps he simply enjoys a challenge?” Hashirama certainly wouldn’t be as brave as to move to a new country with just a pack on his back.

“As a white witch?”

Okay, Hashirama actually agrees with the skepticism there. Despite the obvious ease of which to fix broken items, as was demonstrated several times over the course of the last few days, what use would a white witch have for _time_ spells?

“I hope his garden is filled with gnomes.”

“No you don’t.” Even _if_ Tobirama is lying about what he practices, _no one_ deserves garden gnomes.

Madara sighs loudly. “Ugh. No, you’re right, I don’t. Little fuckers would come over _here_.”

Hashirama nods knowingly. The east side of the vineyard _still_ hasn’t recovered completely.

“Well, if you’re _so_ bored of this topic, how about we switch ones?”

Uh-oh. Hashirama doesn’t like the sound of _that_. It feels suspiciously like a trap, especially with how Madara said it. He _never_ switches topics unprompted—as stubborn as a mule.

“Like, for example, your crush on our new neighbor.”

Hashirama’s legs buckle and complain as he bolts.

Madara’s cackles follow him through the house and out into the fields.

* * *

It isn’t often Hashirama gets jealous of not having less legs, but right now, when he can’t quite get comfortable laying on his back next to Madara watching the colors of the sky darken, he’s jealous.

The years have eroded any kind of clues as to the _how_ and _why_ of his curse, and it’s been so long that Hashirama’s actually afraid what he might do if it’s ever lifted. Would he remember how to sit? To stand? No, Hashirama would rather not even think on that subject. It’s certainly easy enough to do, considering he can’t even _say_ he’s cursed, despite the obviousness of it.

Aside from some rather inconvenient issues, it’s actually quite nice to have a horse’s body! Though, one issue has, ah, _popped up_ recently that has made Hashirama very nervous. He hasn’t worn pants in years, and the closest he comes to coverings is a blanket thrown over his back. But it’s _much_ too hot for even a lightweight one, and so Hashirama’s stuck to resorting to thinking of unsavory things in Tobirama’s presence.

Not even _he_ —with a curse in plain sight—would be able to recover from his cock being on display in front of his crush.

It really, really, _really_ doesn’t help his rather large issue that Tobirama seems to appear out of thin air, and then looks so damn _hot_ as he weaves spells. All long, thin fingers that are so soft looking—

Hashirama clears his throat.

Madara gives him a look which, as their impromptu romp through the vineyard, over the fence, and into the wildflower field demonstrates, Madara knows _exactly_ what Hashirama is daydreaming about.

“I guess I can see it.” Madara finally says at length.

Hashirama hums, unwilling to address the topic further for fear of the unspoken horse laying in the field. It’s never talked about, never _truly_ addressed by any of his previous romantic interests. There becomes a point where the _interest_ becomes something a bit _more_ , and then everything turns belly up and withers like a frog in the sun.

Madara’s hand finds his shoulder followed by a few pats. Leave it to Madara to be able to read his moods.

* * *

Hashirama’s next chance to interact with Tobirama comes the following week, with a town festival. Madara calls him lame for coming to him to ask if he should drape the dark green blanket with tiny sunflowers stitched along the hem over him, or go with the potentially risky dusk yellow one with red swirls.

On Madara’s suggestion, the dark green blanket warms his back.

And then Izuna comes in, cackling about how Hashirama’s dressed to impress before realizing how close his barb struck, and then he promptly kicks Madara out to help Hashirama plait his hair ‘the right way’.

Two perfectly done Dutch braids woven by skilled fingers fall from his head. Izuna kindly helps get his tail to match.

By immense fortune—or Hikaku’s strange way of knowing—a sunflower sits over one of his ears, the end tucked neatly into his plait.

Hashirama can barely contain himself as he waits by the gates.

There are little hoof-prints dug into the ground by the time Madara comes out of the villa, wearing his _good_ robes and frowning at him.

“C’mon, let’s _go_.”

Madara points to the ground. “You’re fixing that later.”

Hashirama rolls his eyes as he holds the gate open for Madara. _He_ won’t do anything; he hasn’t been able to call upon any kinds of magic since getting cursed. But the argument is an old one, and the familiarity is welcome.

Several quiet moments pass as they make their way down to the village proper. Hashirama uses his height advantage to scan the crowds for a hint of white, a wavy, curly halo of hair.

“What do you think I should say to him first?”

It’s very telling that Madara doesn’t ask ‘who’. “You should probably say ‘hi’. ‘Hello’, if you’re feeling particularly concerned.”

Hashirama hip-checks Madara, smirking at the pained _oof_ and stopping to raise a foreleg in defense as his best friend turns a glare on him.

“You”—Madara pokes him solidly—“should consider yourself _lucky_ that I _like_ you.”

His innocent look is met with another poke, and then Hashirama laughs as they start walking again.

* * *

“What if he doesn’t come? If he doesn’t know that today’s a festival?”

“Hashirama—” Madara rubs his forehead as he closes his eyes.

“He knows.”

Hashirama perks up at Hikaku’s statement. “Really? No, wait, that isn’t me _doubting_ you that Tobirama knows—”

“I should hope you wouldn’t doubt the words of a seer.”

“Tobirama!” Hashirama’s very glad that he’s already on the ground. He’s not particularly enthusiastic at how his voice jumps three octaves. By the way Madara’s shooting Hikaku little lightning bolts with his eyes, he doesn’t appreciate the shared misery of Hikaku’s idea of a joke.

Hashirama quickly clears his throat as he turns to look behind him. “I’m glad youuuaaah…”

Silence reigns.

A white eyebrow raises and Hashirama can only stare on. Tobirama is _resplendent_ in white robes, shimmery stitchings of patron prayers of goodwill done in gold and silver. _Any_ lingering doubt of Tobirama’s status of a white witch gone in such overwhelming proof.

“What he means to say is—” Madara cuts himself off as the attention of those red eyes lined with stardust shift to him.

The _other_ white eyebrow raises and Hashirama is painfully aware of how much of a fool he’s making of himself gaping like a fish, and is at least grateful that Madara seems to be playing along to give him time to recover.

But there’s no recovering when Tobirama tilts his head, his decorative laurel of assorted flowers reflecting colors off white hair with small jackalope antlers rising up from the forsythia.

“I _told_ you they’d be speechless! You’re so pretty!”

Tobirama _smiles_ leaning down with a hand to ruffle—

“Hello Kagami. Thank you for bringing our friend to us.” Hikaku’s voice is sure, and Hashirama has a moment of envy that Hikaku _never_ seems to be taken by surprise.

“Anytime!” Kagami chirps before dashing off, leaving silence again.

Hashirama stares, leaning past Madara who’s leaning past Hikaku to watch how gracefully Tobirama folds himself to sit on the spare cushion Hikaku set out, and witnesses a too-pretty and soft smile touch that face.

“He’s quite a little sponge, that Kagami.”

Hikaku only hums as he pours out a glass of wine for Tobirama.

* * *

It’s two bottles of wine later that Tobirama starts _laughing_ , and another one before Tobirama pulls out one of his own with a sly little tilt of his lips that has Hashirama staring again.

Not that he really cares, at the moment, that he’s probably giving away _way_ too much.

No, all that matters is that Tobirama giggles as he steadies Hashirama’s wine glass, that _soft_ pale hand resting against Hashirama’s own.

Hell, Hashirama can’t even feel guilty when Madara gets to experience that overwhelming softness.

Hashirama’s never going to wash his hand.

Pink, inviting lips draw his gaze and the pleasant sound of Tobirama’s liting, accented Italian fills his ears. Hashirama isn’t paying attention in the slightest, but nods along as he sips at the drink in his hand. 

Between one blink and the next, his glass is empty, filled again, and empty once more.

 _Hikaku’s_ voice rings out and Hashirama might just have to accept the fact that he is drunk.

“I think all of us are rather drunk right now, thank you for explaining the situation so clearly, Hashirama.”

There’s no shame in how Hashirama watches Tobirama laugh at his expense, at how Tobirama lifts his glass in toast and then drinks. The long line of pale skin bobs with each swallow and Hashirama _wants_ —

His world tilts and suddenly he’s leaning on Hikaku, his hooves dragging through the dirt as he sings.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s extremely flattering, to have so many eyes on him. Tobirama squashes the part of him that thinks _adulterer, betrayer_ because it was not _him_ who broke the marriage vows.

In hindsight, marrying right out of highschool probably wasn’t the best of ideas.

Either way, Tobirama tells himself he’s _allowed_ to enjoy the festival. Allowed to flirt and project his interest. Allowed to drink with his new acquaintances and learn even more about them.

Hashirama devolves into loud singing and Tobirama shakes his head as he watches Hikaku attempt to direct Hashirama in the right direction. Tobirama isn’t worried; Hikaku seems a very humble yet incredibly talented seer.

Which means Tobirama is still sitting, still enjoying the last few golden-red streaks of sun burning on the horizon. The alcohol buzzes through his veins and with a deep breath, the aether starts buzzing along his skin. Such potent magicks, here.

“You _are_ very pretty, you know.”

Tobirama opens his eyes, watches the sparkling stars as he simply tilts his head in Madara’s direction and hums.

“Kagami. He’s right.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Cloth rustles and then there’s a drunk-brave finger leaving hot trails of goosebumps along Tobirama’s shoulder. “Not everyone gets a _full_ Orion.”

“Not everyone has lifted as many curses as I have.” The drink has made Tobirama’s tongue loose, but the sheer _awe_ that shines in Madara’s eyes when he looks over bolsters his ego.

Tobirama stares as Madara stares back, his face suddenly so close—hovering just over Tobirama’s shoulder.

That damnable finger continues to trace the stitchings on his robe.

Madara is...attractive, in the very classical sense. Especially so in the hush that’s fallen over them, crickets chirping in the distance. Tobirama gets a very good look at those deep black eyes as Madara comes closer.

The first press of their lips together has Tobirama’s heart fluttering. The second has Tobirama’s eyes closing and pressing back. A hot hand grips his shoulder and Tobirama makes a decision.

“Walk me home?” The whisper is nearly lost in the faint space between them, and Tobirama flutters his eyes open just in time for his answer: another searing kiss.

* * *

Hot hands distract Tobirama as he walks. All over his arms, shoulders—one notable occasion even grabbing hold of his hips and pulling him back into a solid chest.

Light, airy giggles and deep, throaty chuckles mark the progression of Tobirama and Madara back to his villa. The sound of crickets and nighttime critters round out the space and make Tobirama feel like all of this is a dream; a handsome man chasing after him with fire and promise in his eyes.

In a way it feels almost _forbidden_ in the way Tobirama delights in being the only thing Madara sees. Madara even trips coming across the threshold that he’s been across at least three dozen times.

That, or it’s the effects of the alcohol.

Tobirama would very much like to be vain and believe it’s because of himself.

His door latches shut, muting the outside noises and no sooner does Tobirama turn around to look at Madara does he have those scorching hands dragging him closer for a kiss he enthusiastically returns.

“Mmm—ah!” His head is pulled back by a sure grip on his hair and Tobirama hisses as Madara’s mouth latches onto his throat.

His laurel slipping loose causes Tobirama to disengage. Or, well, _attempt_ to.

“At least let me put my robes up properly, yes?”

The promise of clothing removal earns him his freedom very quickly.

* * *

A strangled, cut-off sound causes Tobirama to pause where he’s inspecting his hanging robe—good enough until tomorrow when he can clean it—only to see Madara staring at him, face bright red.

Of course, Madara’s robes are already half-off, caught in Madara's arms. Tobirama takes an extra long time admiring the expanse of bared shoulders and thick arms.

Another sound comes out of Madara and Tobirama smirks.

“Anything _under_ my robe would only hinder my connection to the earth.”

Madara’s mad scramble to take off his pants affords Tobirama just enough time to stretch himself out on the bed before he’s getting pushed further into it. Humming and feeling bold, Tobirama bites at Madara’s lips, _feeling_ the resulting groan against his chest.

Tobirama makes an encouraging noise as Madara fists both their cocks together, slicking them with the warming lube that Tobirama doesn’t even remember getting out of his nightstand.

An interesting discovery is made when Tobirama’s fingers get caught in Madara’s hair, and subsequent yanking is done on purpose. Especially when two lubed fingers enter him.

Now it’s Tobirama’s turn to groan, throwing his head back as a litany of ‘yes, yes, yes’ is chanted in encouragement.

Madara doesn’t disappoint.

Tobirama shouts as Madara decides to find out _just_ how sensitive his prostate is. The constant rubbing, the third finger so suddenly, the _bites_ that Madara litters his torso with—

He doesn’t know whether to curse or to bless Madara as he suddenly stops. He settles instead for pulling Madara up for a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue.

“ _Fuck_.” Tobirama hisses as Madara doesn’t waste any more time teasing.

* * *

Tobirama wakes up slowly, his body aching pleasantly as it hasn’t in many months.

The second clue is the dry mouth, the way his tongue sticks unpleasantly to the top of his mouth.

_I’m never drinking again_.

Opening his eyes so he can assess the damage, he’s greeted to a large black mass. A few blinks later and Tobirama recognizes the man hidden underneath such impressive volume.

Madara.

Because _of course it is_.

At least he has good taste in men. Well, aside from his ex. Who was literally Tobirama’s first everything. Hm.

There’s still an ache in Tobirama’s chest from the spectacular divorce. The part that hurts the most is that Tobirama _didn’t see it coming_. If he had—no, no. There’s no use in thinking about ‘what ifs’.

Tobirama is here, in Italy, freshly fucked from a spectacular night of drinking by a man who _isn’t_ his crush—but who _is_ rather attractive regardless.

Oh, Tobirama hopes that Madara will be okay just, continuing to be friends. It’s not as though drunken one-night stands _don’t_ happen here in Italy, right?

He’s saved from further thought when Madara clumsily pushes himself onto his elbows, blinks at him, blinks at him _again_ —

“So it _wasn’t_ a dream.”

Tobirama’s taken aback, and thankfully Madara flops back down so Tobirama can get his facial expressions under control.

So Madara’s attracted to him. Obvious from what they clearly got up to last night. But his statement confirms that Madara has actually _thought_ of him in such a light.

Tobirama attempts to squash the _highly_ flattered part of his heart.

* * *

It happens again.

This time at the back of the vineyard, only the leafy trellis to hide them. Tobirama’s heart races as Madara traces nonsensical lines with his tongue down his neck and chest, eating the grapes that Tobirama’s been attempting to balance on his torso.

One falls between his thighs and Madara chases it with vigor.

Tobirama’s palm slaps against his face in his attempts to quiet the sounds Madara’s eliciting.

And when Tobirama’s whole body feels like jelly and his head turns to look down the open bottoms of the trellis, he notices Hashirama’s hooves halfway towards the villa.

“MADARA?”

Tobirama starts to tense up, fearful for the relationship he’s found himself falling into ruining the one he wants. Madara simply sighs, crawling over Tobirama again to press a kiss against his cheek and to whisper in his ear.

“You can pay me back later, hm?”

And Tobirama does. After Madara stands up and corrals Hashirama back towards the house, after Tobirama picks himself up out of the dirt to scurry under the fence and back towards his villa, after Tobirama takes a shower and changes clothes, Madara comes knocking on his door.

And there’s an expecting sort of silence despite the little basket that seems terribly out of place for a man like _Madara_ to be carrying. Tobirama is curious when the little wicker basket is placed on his kitchen counter, but Madara is intent to collect on that ‘later’.


	4. Chapter 4

Hashirama’s just pulling the last pan out of the oven when he hears the door open. He doesn’t have to wait long before Madara wanders into the kitchen to snag a fresh pizzelle, looking rather windswept.

“Thanks for delivering the pizzelles to Tobirama for me.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

Hashirama blinks. His best friend is typically a bit more… _vocal_. Not that Madara can’t be a quiet person sometimes! Just that, well, usually Madara complains about _every_ favor asked of him, despite Madara himself asking if he could help.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine—what’s with you?” Madara snags another two pizzelle, face sour and just daring Hashirama to say something.

Ah, _there’s_ his prickly, wonderful friend. Hashirama smiles at Madara and says nothing.

Madara gets a spatula to his greedy little hands when he reaches for more.

“Wow, fuck you too, _ass_.”

“Excuse you, I think you mean majestic unicorn.”

Madara snorts. “ _Glittery_ ass.”

Hashirama shakes his head at Madara, smiling as he imagines how much harder his life would have been had he been cursed with a _horn_ as well.

“Hey, could you—” Hashirama cuts himself off as he turns around to ask Madara another favor only to find Madara no longer in the kitchen.

He’ll just have to go get his basket back himself, once he’s secured the rest of the pizzelles from equally unscrupulous grubby hands.

* * *

It’s a warm evening, and Hashirama most assuredly didn’t wait until it’s possible for him to excuse himself off of Tobirama’s front steps if his nerves get the better of him.

The lights stay on in Tobirama’s villa, and Hashirama breathes a sigh of relief as he lightly treads up to the door, well aware of the way his hooves could damage the stones.

Keeping his hooves flat on the very-much-breakable stone, Hashirama waits in agony. Not even a full minute passes before the door opens and Tobirama is _right there_.

“Hashirama?”

Oh, his name sounds so nice being said with that cute little accent, by that cute little mouth. A dopey smile spreads across his face without his permission.

Another few seconds pass and Tobirama’s eyebrows pinch together, Hashirama’s only clue that he hasn’t said anything.

“Basket!”

Tobirama jolts at the sudden exclamation.

Hashirama grips a thumb in his other hand to keep his very-big-and-capable-of-destruction hooves down. This conversation is going the way of literally _every other_ conversation Hashirama’s attempted to have with Tobirama, excluding the festival when everyone had a lot of alcohol and it wasn’t _just_ Tobirama and himself.

Hashirama clears his throat. “Madara brought over some pizzelle that I made. If you give me back the basket I can assure that you get some more.”

“Sure, come on in.” Tobirama says easily, despite how Hashirama looks around and sees all the accidents he’s had in every swipe of fresh paint, of a well-placed painting, of a scuff mark one of his metal shoes made when it accidentally sparked. “I didn’t know you baked.”

“Ah, yes, sometimes.” Hashirama calls out to Tobirama’s retreating back.

“Well, they’re _very_ good, have you considered opening a bakery?” Tobirama’s quiet, foreign words are covered by the shuffling noises. Hashirama wants to go further into the villa, wants to go into that sunny kitchen knowing that he’s going to see Tobirama’s form catching the last of the day’s sunlight.

Nerves keep him rooted near the front door.

“A-ah, well,” Hashirama forces his anxious hoof to stop. “They could always be better.”

There’s a noise of disagreement, and Tobirama appears in the doorframe, a pizzelle—one of _his_ pizzelle, that he baked himself—dangling from his mouth. The basket gets deposited neatly into Hashirama’s hands and the word Tobirama attempts to say around the pizzelle sounds suspiciously like ‘nonsense’.

Dead cats. That one squeaky wheel on the cart. The east vineyard gnome Incident.

“I think you’ve got plenty of _talent_ , Hashirama.”

Gnomes, gnomes…

_Fuck it_ , Hashirama can’t concentrate on anything but the soft glow of Tobirama backlit by the dying sun, by the way a pink tongue darts out to catch the crumbs of pizzelle, how Tobirama seems to be _flirting_ with him—wait.

Hashirama backpedals from where his brain immediately jumped to, refocusing to see the small—and _rare_ smile on Tobirama’s lips, lips that part and close around another bite of pizzelle.

Hashirama makes a noise. He’s not sure exactly what kind of noise he makes, but it’s a noise that definitely means he should be getting back home.

* * *

True to his word, Hashirama fends off not two, but _three_ separate attempts of pizzelle pilfering as he packs another basket up for Tobirama, going so far as to put the basket in his bedroom for the night.

If Hashirama didn’t know any better, he would call all of his adoptive family _thieves_.

Except Hashirama attempted that a total of _once_ and he couldn’t _escape_ the torment for an entire year—primarily because Hikaku was helping the others.

It’s been many, _many_ years since his foolish youth, but Hashirama knows that seers don’t forget things, like, _ever_. Unless that’s just a Hikaku trait.

But regardless, he sets a couple wrapped pizzelle on the plate outside Hikaku’s door the next morning, knowing everyone else is _also_ fearful of Hikaku’s retaliation to not attempt to steal from him.

Halfway towards Tobirama’s villa, Hashirama realizes that he has no idea when the white witch wakes up, and whether he’ll be _disturbing_ him at such an early hour.

_I’ll just wait if I’m too early_.

But Hashirama needn’t have been so worried, because as Hashirama clops up to the door, he sees Tobirama move behind the curtains.

His large good morning smile fades quickly into confusion when _Madara_ opens the door.

“Madara?”

“Hashirama. You brought pizzelles?”

Hashirama’s brows draw down into a frown at the way Madara zeroes in on the basket. “They’re for Tobirama.”

“Oh good, I was hoping you’d bring more by. Madara insisted on getting paid with the last one I had.”

Tobirama, ever the calm and collected one, smoothly slips by Madara to pick the basket right out of Hashirama’s hands before turning to walk further in, waving Hashirama inside.

“Why are you here?” Hashirama whispers furiously.

“Why do you _think_?” is the waspish response.

“I think a lot of things.”

“Then perhaps you _do_ have a brain somewhere between your two bodies.”

Hashirama draws himself up from the hunch he was in to be closer to Madara's height. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

It’s said at a normal volume, and draws Tobirama’s back to them. But Hashirama’s not looking at him, mind yelling his insecurities to him as he stares down Madara.

Especially because of the bright red and purple marks along Madara’s exposed collarbones that Hashirama’s afraid he’ll see mirrored on Tobirama.

The _crack_ of the tile as Hashirama stomps while he turns to leave accurately represents the sound of his heart breaking.

* * *

An advantage of having a horse’s body is that he can cover a lot of ground when he wants, meaning he finds himself alone faster than he blinks, and he slows to a walk when he enters the forest surrounding the whole valley.

Hashirama should be used to this kind of betrayal, this kind of sting—it’s hardly the first time that someone both Madara and Hashirama have both liked has chosen the more _human_ , the more _closer to home_ option.

_It isn’t fair_ , Hashirama stomps some pretty wildflowers growing in his warpath, _it isn’t fair Madara gets the one I truly thought I had a connection with_.

Another hour passes and Hashirama finds himself a suitable shaded area to watch the sunlight stream through the leaves.

The next hour Hashirama is laying down, eyes closed and attempting to breathe through the heartache. An acorn lands with a particular _thump_ next to his head.

“Go away, Izuna.” No more acorns fall, and the squirrel under Izuna’s compulsion runs away loudly.

Finally, when the shade becomes a bit _too_ chilly does Hashirama stand, looking up at the bright red sky. How fitting.

Hashirama does his best to sneak through the forest right up until he has to hop over the vineyard fence. His eyes automatically search across the expanse to Tobirama’s villa. All the lights are off, which is just as well, Hashirama supposes.

Dragging his hooves, the Uchiha villa looms in front of him.

“Hashirama.”

Hashirama heaves a big sigh, because he doesn’t want to hear what kind of ‘it’s only a matter of time’ nonsense from Hikaku _again_. “Hikaku—”

“Here.”

Hashirama blinks as Hikaku hands him the two pizzelles he placed in front of his door only just this morning. It feels like a lifetime away.

“What—”

“ _No star shines as brightly as the one we look at most_. I’ll be dealing with Madara, so don’t worry. Just _go_.”

Hashirama wants to argue, wants to tell Hikaku _exactly_ where he can shove his cryptic ‘advice’ but—but his heart gives a traitorous lurch in his chest and Hashirama starts galloping.

* * *

Hashirama’s hooves feel light, his whole body does.

It’s probably because he hasn’t eaten anything today.

His typical stamina runs dry faster than ever before, both his hearts pounding with the exertion of searching for Tobirama, circling his villa grounds twice before he takes off again for the forest.

It’s foolish to hope that Tobirama had chased after him, but Hashirama has always been a hopeless case.

The forest flies around him until he’s forced to slow down as the trees become the same color as one another, the darkness setting in. He doesn’t call out, only strains his ears to listen for something more than the hoots of owls and scurry of night creatures.

Although the valley is perfectly safe from all manner of magical creatures, the forests aren’t quite as protected, and nighttime is more dangerous. If Tobirama is out here and winds up hurt…

After passing what is _clearly_ the same bole in the same tree for the fourth time, Hashirama stops. His magical sense might not be as heightened as any of the Uchiha, but he can recognize a maze array.

Who knows exactly how long he’s been trapped in it, too worried and frantic to notice.

But the first step to breaking it is _knowing_. The second is—

“Lost, little one?”

Hashirama opens his eyes to find a rather peculiar bright red fox lounging on the tree branch in front of him. It’s of no use to him to argue with a roaming magical creature of near-human intelligence.

Ugh, now he almost sounds like Hikaku.

The thought brings his focus to the food in his small bag.

“I’m taking the long way around.”

The red fox chitters. “A clever one, then. What say you do a deal?”

Sharp teeth, far too many to fit inside a normal fox’s mouth flash him before the fox cackles.

“I’ll give you something truly spectacular if you promise to take it and never return to these forests.”

“Oh?” The fox rolls onto its side, the weird lengths of its limbs dangling off the sides. “And what would be worth giving up such a good hunting ground?”

“Something made with heart.”

Dark brown eyes flash open at him before the fox is suddenly sitting upright. “You’ve got a deal.”

Hashirama barely contains his smile as he reaches and grabs a pizzelle, the fox snagging it right out of his hand and disappearing with a haunting yip. A moment passes and Hashirama looks around.

Then he allows himself to grin at the new story he’ll be able to share with Madara. The grin slides right off his face at the thought of his ex(?) best friend.

But first, his priority is finding Tobirama.

With a calmer head, he mulls over the advice Hikaku had shared, growing frustrated after no immediate answer comes to mind. But he has to, he _must_ find Tobirama.

A bit of light catches his attention on the ground and Hashirama stares at the small puddle reflecting—

The _stars_.


	5. Chapter 5

Tobirama can readily admit that perhaps he should have thought over trapezing in an unknown forest for hours a little bit more. Thankfully he finds a fairy ring just as twilight starts, runs the appropriate number clockwise around it before the rather bold little dragonfly-winged fairy shows herself to him.

Dropping the name of his resident fairy back in his garden thankfully works in his favor, and the fairy promptly pulls his hair to lead him back out of the forest, chattering on about how she’s going to pluck the butterfly wings from her too-tiny body.

Or the fairy means ‘vigorous massage’. Fairy doesn’t ever translate well.

But after he secures his butterfly fairy’s continued survival, he walks out here, to the middle of his garden.

Thankfully there’s a bench he can sit on so he can stare out and think about how much he’s _really_ screwed things up here without fear of falling over farther to the ground.

Another sigh works its way through his system as he beats himself up over how stupid he’s been. He stares up as the stars start coming out in earnest now.

_Pegasus_ is as upside-down and present as ever, and Tobirama even manages to quirk a smile at the cluster of stars.

Only to startle when loud rustling is the only warning he gets before _Hashirama_ jumps over his garden wall.

Tobirama stares.

“You look terrible.” Tobirama winces at the withering look Hashirama sends him. “Sorry. It’s been a rather rough day.”

Hashirama side-eyes him, twigs and leaves sticking up haphazardly from his hair giving him an almost crazed look.

“You’d never guess it,” Tobirama swallows as he bolsters his courage to continue, “but I think I fucked up.”

* * *

Tobirama isn’t sure whether Hashirama is even listening, at this point. It’s been an hour and all the other has done is stand there. The roses need trimming again.

“And to think I thought all of this could be quietly dealt with.”

And the forsythia needed transplanting.

“That’s probably the longest apology I’ve ever heard.” Hashirama’s voice cuts through Tobirama’s gardening to-do list making.

Tobirama can only stare as Hashirama comes closer, as he kneels and lays on the ground in front of the bench Tobirama’s curled up on.

And then his stomach decides to remind Tobirama he hasn’t eaten at all.

Before Tobirama can even open his mouth to stammer an excuse out, _Hashirama’s_ stomach growls, louder than his own.

They both chuckle at their shared embarrassment.

Hashirama pulls out a rather cutely wrapped pizzelle, and then promptly shocks him when Hashirama attempts to hand it over.

“Oh no, please, you’re certainly more deserving than I am!”

Ah, Tobirama’s messed up again, given how Hashirama is pursing his lips. He looks down at his knees, wondering how such a mess of a person like himself could have possibly thought he could mend _anything_.

A tan hand enters his vision.

“Let’s start over. I’m Hashirama.”

Tobirama once again finds himself staring at the proffered hand until it shakes a little. “Nice to meet you. Tobirama.”

“Tobirama who’s been sleeping with my best friend.”

A wince. “Tobirama, who’s been sleeping with your best friend.”

“But you like me more, right?”

“I certainly liked you _first_ —and more! I do! Ugh.” Tobirama slaps his hands to his face to stop himself from making an even bigger fool of himself.

Hashirama’s laugh is soft and sincere as he breaks the pizzelle in his hands in half.

* * *

After Hashirama spills his life story—or rather, as much as he can remember and can actually _say_ —along with several more tummy rumbling, Tobirama suggests they move into the kitchen.

Hashirama’s large body fills the space nicely and Tobirama wants to keep the centaur.

Instead of cooking, they snack on pizzelles as they talk more. It’s only when there’s half a pizzelle, two slices of cheese, and three ham pieces left that Tobirama extends the offer for Hashirama to spend the night.

“We don’t have to do anything!” Tobirama is quick to tack on when Hashirama looks towards him.

“You _want_ to do…things?” The _with me like this_ left unsaid as Hashirama gestures to his lower half.

Tobirama blinks. He never truly thought of how anything even remotely intimate past kissing would go with Hashirama, and now that he finds himself thinking about it, he feels his face heat up.

The silence stretches, and as Tobirama feels his face grow hotter and hotter, the incredulous disbelief on Hashirama’s face slowly morphs into burgeoning hope. Tobirama can’t say _no_ now.

“Uh.” Words escape Tobirama as he watches Hashirama’s eyes fall into a sly look, watches as a smirk appears on that devilishly handsome face.

“You _do_ want to.”

“I’m, ah,” Tobirama needs to look away from Hashirama for his own sanity, but Hashirama’s coming closer. Tobirama swallows. “I’m willing to try.”

His whisper gets swallowed up by Hashirama’s hum, and then those glorious lips.

* * *

_Willing to try_ translates—apparently—to _watching Hashirama masturbate on his bed_.

Tobirama is oh so terribly hard in his pants, face red, and he can’t tear his eyes away from where one of Hashirama’s large tan hands is stroking the girthy _horse cock_ of his.

Hashirama is panting into the crook of his neck, licking and nibbling. The added weight against his front is an even bigger turn-on. From where Tobirama’s straddling one of Hashirama’s forelegs, with Hashirama laying on his side curled up, Tobirama gets an _excellent_ view.

Except that he wants to _touch_.

He’s never been inclined to think of animals in a sexual way, and it feels delightfully thrilling to be able to run his hands down Hashirama’s sides and at the base of his hips start to feel silky fur.

“Okay, let me—” Tobirama cuts himself off as he reaches, hands making it very clear where and what he would like to do.

Hashirama stretches out and rolls onto his back, his cock slipping out of his hand and smacking against his belly with a lewd sound. Those hands work Tobirama’s pants off and settle him over Hashirama’s belly more comfortably.

Tobirama may have a thing for manhandling.

The flared cockhead leaks another long dribble as Tobirama touches ever so gently. A loud and utterly indecent moan comes from Hashirama as Tobirama finally strokes along the soft yet firm skin.

Thankfully he only squeaks a little when two large hands slap his ass and start groping him. Not a few moments after his cheeks are spread and a thumb presses and rubs against him.

It takes a shamefully long time for Tobirama to realize that Hashirama isn’t going further because he’s seeking permission, seeking _validation_ that he is wanted in such capacity. As if Tobirama’s hard cock on his horse chest isn’t enough proof.

“Yes, _please_ Hashirama.”

Hashirama’s fingers stop teasing and all the air in Tobirama’s lungs goes out in one great breath as a finger enters him, not stopping until Tobirama can feel the rest of Hashirama’s hand. The drag out causes Tobirama to whine, and the thrust back in makes him gasp.

For the next several minutes, Tobirama is taken apart and can only focus on the stretch and drag of several long and thick fingers inside him. And then Tobirama is reciprocating again, hands growing wet and sticky with clear fluid.

The telltale rubbing of a thumb is the warning Tobirama receives right before Hashirama is slowly working it inside. Breathing becomes very hard and requires his entire focus suddenly.

Hashirama makes a strangled sound and Tobirama couldn’t agree more, and huffs out a light laugh.

Tobirama needs to grip Hashirama’s body to steady himself as that damnable large hand twists and spreads inside him, as Hashirama slowly pulls out just to push back inside.

It’s maddening and Tobirama would crush that bright pink and brown speckled dick if he were to even attempt to continue touching it.

Instead, Tobirama smacks the sensitive—or what he hopes is still sensitive—skin near it when Hashirama spends a little _too_ much time teasing his rim.

Tobirama shamelessly moans when Hashirama’s hand pops free.

* * *

Finding a position that _truly_ works proves...difficult. With Hashirama on his back, _traditionally_ Tobirama would have more control over the pace and depth. But Tobirama’s feet can’t straddle Hashirama’s body to give him the required leverage.

Which leaves Tobirama shaking as Hashirama helps pull him further down that flared cock.

“Nearly halfway.” Hashirama oh so helpfully informs him.

Tobirama can only moan in response. _Only_ halfway—and then Tobirama feels it: the cock is getting wider, and he makes a questioning sound as it bumps up against him every slow thrust.

But Hashirama’s panting as well, eyes locked more on where they’re connected than his face, and Tobirama flat out _screams_ when the wider part enters him.

“Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —”

Thankfully Hashirama stops and curls his torso even more to kiss him. The distraction causes Tobirama to relax just enough for gravity to decide to let him take more of that cock up his ass.

Hashirama moans and the Tobirama can only press a hand to his navel as he _feels_ the twitch. When he’s lifted up and that thicker middle part drags against everything, Tobirama comes undone, and that flared cockhead nearly drives him to overstimulation.

But Hashirama’s still hard, still leaking, and Tobirama wants to please.

The second position they try is better, if only because Tobirama can lay on his stomach. Unfortunately there will be no kisses like this.

But as soon as the strong forelegs of Hashirama kneel on either side of his head, as soon as a hot and heavy stomach presses against his back, and Tobirama helps guide that hefty cock right back into him, Tobirama could not care less about _kisses_.

His arms come up to wrap around the soft fringes around Hashirama’s forelegs and he pushes his head up and back into Hashirama’s chest. Opening his eyes gives him the sight of Hashirama biting one of his fingers, hair disheveled in the best of ways.

When Hashirama curls forward this time, Tobirama makes sure he’s watching every single feeling pass over that handsome face.

The middle thickness gives Tobirama no shortage of wonderful trouble, and his spent cock twitches back to life almost _painfully_ quick as soon as Hashirama starts thrusting.

Tobirama amends his previous thinking that getting pulled down onto this cock from before was _harsh_.

It’s almost _too_ much, but as soon as Tobirama thinks that, Hashirama stills against his back. Then it’s the overwhelming heat that causes Tobirama to cry out, to fist his leaking cock and then clench when some of that heat spills out of him around Hashirama.

The extra slick on his cock is what does him in.

_Cleaning up can wait until the morning_. Tobirama wants to cuddle.

And so Tobirama presses against Hashirama until he slips free and flops over onto his bed. He’s quick to slide up to wind his arms around Hashirama’s torso and kiss him.

Tobirama’s ass feels incredibly empty, but his heart is fit to burst when Hashirama cups either side of his face and kisses him back.

“You’re incredible.”

Tobirama shakes his head, because he knows he’s _not_. “No, you are.”

Hashirama pulls Tobirama in closer. “We both are. However, I’m still a little annoyed at you, so _you_ can be the one to tell Madara of our relationship.”

Blanching, Tobirama lifts his head to look at Hashirama. “What?”

“Don’t worry so much! The worst thing Madara will do is light your hair on fire!”

Another moment passes in silence before Hashirama laughs, the warm sound nearly making Tobirama forget what he’s laughing _at_.

“And besides,” Hashirama places his head on Tobirama’s, “I’ll be right next to you so we can go gallivanting off into the sunset together afterwards.”

Now it’s Tobirama’s turn to laugh. “That’s so incredibly cheesy, how on earth did I fall in love with you?”

Tobirama kisses Hashirama to keep his loud, overeager oaf of a centaur from answering his rhetoric.


End file.
